CHAPTER VIII.
Mr. Sauls took the doctor's hint, and risked no broken bones.
"I might have a remarkable piece of evidence as to the excellence ofthat charming family's temper," he remarked; "but it's not worth whilebeing mobbed for that. I wonder Tom Thorpe is such a fool!"
"Mrs. Thorpe sent you the warning," said the doctor.
"Did she?" said George, rather surprised. "Ah! she saw if Mr. Tom brokemy head afresh, he'd help to damn the preacher."
He opined justly enough. Love and hate had arrived for once at the sameconclusion.
Mrs. Sauls had been in the court, as well as dozens of other ladies notso immediately concerned, who had stared through opera glasses at thepreacher, and whispered to each other that the slight woman in blackwith the pale face and cropped hair was Mrs. Thorpe, "who _was_ MargaretDeane, you know".
George Sauls made his exit in safety, and went to Hill Street to talkthings over with his mother.
"You won't win, my dear," she said. "He can't prove that he didn't doit; but you can't prove that he did; and the jury always incline to theside of poor man _versus_ gentleman. His ragged coat and his roughaccent are decidedly in his favour; he'll get off."
"I've done my little best," said George, throwing himself on the sofafull length. "That's always a comfort. As you say, he'll possibly escapethrough the holes in his shirt. An English jury have a curiouslysentimental leaning to poverty. May I smoke? Thanks! Well, it is somesmall satisfaction to reflect that I've given him three months inNewgate; and I don't think it has agreed with him."
The old lady nodded thoughtfully; she and George always thoroughlyunderstood each other.
She knew that he liked his cigar, and the warm room, and the soft sofathe better because Barnabas Thorpe was suffering bodily discomfort; andit was a very natural source of satisfaction, she considered.
"And there's a further consolation," he went on, after puffing away insilence for a few minutes. "You see I am resigning myself to the chanceof his not being hung. There's another consolation. If I win, he'll be amartyr, as sure as I'm a sinner; he'll have such a glorification as willdisguise the fact that he is being punished for a dastardly attempt atmurder. They'll forget that. He'll be 'injured poverty'; and I,'oppressing opulence'. But, if he gets off for want of sufficientevidence, then they won't forget. I fancy his preaching won't go down sowell then--there'll always be whispers."
"That's true," said Mrs. Sauls. "It's odd that they have never tracedthose diamonds since your pockets were rifled."
"I believe some one must have seen me lying there, before Mr. Tom playedgood Samaritan, and must have helped himself. I don't believe thepreacher would have stolen from me, do you?"
He had great faith in his mother's judgment; this time it took him bysurprise.
"If you want my private opinion on the subject--but perhaps you don't?"she began.
"Oh yes, I do. I always like to hear your private opinions. They arerefreshingly original. Go on."
"Well, my dear, my private opinion is this: A man who is capable ofhitting behind in the dark, is capable of emptying his victim's pockets;but _that_ man did neither the one nor the other."
George took his cigar from between his lips, and sat upright with ajerk. His mother was sitting by the fire, her rich silk dress tucked up,her feet on the fender, her light, cat-like eyes gazing into the redembers. She nodded again, as if in answer to his movement.
"That is strictly between ourselves, George," she said; "but I amconvinced he didn't do it. He made a shocking poor defence! If he hadbeen guilty, he might have found more to say. He wasn't attempting toexonerate himself. My dear, I watched him all the time, and he hardlytook it in when a point was made for and when against him. He knew whenhis wife moved, and he was pleased when that fine old clergyman calledhim his friend; but he wasn't following the case. He is ill; any onecould see that he could hardly stand. But, if he had been guilty, hisnerves would have been on the rack all the time; and, if he had knownnothing about it, he'd have shown more fight. He knows something, andhas made up his mind that his tongue's tied, and that he will just leaveit to Providence."
"Ah well," said George, "if nothing short of hanging will teach BarnabasThorpe that Providence does not go out of its way to dance attendance onhim, I humbly hope he may learn that lesson with a rope round his neck.I don't feel called on to baulk it. If he is such a fool as to sheltercriminals, let him."
"Certainly," said Mrs. Sauls. "But, if he were your client, my son, he'dbe cleared. If you had been acting for him, you'd have found out, beforenow, who the real criminal was, whether Barnabas Thorpe tried to shelterhim or not."
George laughed. "I am too old a bird to be caught by such a bare-facedcompliment, old lady!" said he. "If that rascally saint were my client,of course I should do my best to whitewash him; but he isn't innocent,and I shouldn't think him so."
"Shall I tell you what will happen? The diamonds will be found in thepossession of the real culprit," said Mrs. Sauls.
"Oh, of course they will be found," said George; "as soon as the thieftries to pass them. He'll be afraid to, for weeks yet. I never had anyhope that they were in our pious friend's possession. Pooh! he's greedyof praise, and he likes pretty women, in conjunction with long prayers;but I'm bound to own that, if it had been diamonds he was hankeringafter, he could have had them without the trouble of knocking me on thehead."
"Oh--could he? that has not come out in court," said Mrs. Sauls, hersharp old face alight with interest. "You mentioned a locket set withdiamonds among the contents of your pocket; but you, neither of you,said that you had had any talk about it."
"It belonged to Mrs. Thorpe originally," said George. "It happened tocome into my hands. In fact, I picked it up in a pawn-shop, and tried toreturn it to her. Her husband wouldn't let her accept it, which was likehis insolence; but there was no need for either of us to drag her nameinto court, and I wasn't going to give all the sweet women who look onat trials the joy of serving up a bit of scandal about that poor lady.They are like French cooks--they can concoct a spicy dish out of nextto nothing. Well! what are you cogitating now?"
"You say he likes pretty women," said Mrs. Sauls. "It strikes me helikes _one_ woman uncommonly well. As for his preaching and praying, ithas cost him so dear, by all accounts, that, though it may be done inthe market-place, I fancy it can hardly be for the praise of men. Cantdoesn't court broken bones, as a rule."
"Ah! women are always taken in by that sort," said George. "I thoughtbetter of you, mother! Even at your age you are not proof against apreacher."
"My dear, that's no argument," said his mother. "If you take toplatitudes about the sexes I have done. Yes, yes! Women have apredilection for parsons and preachers, it's well known. I am seventyyears of age and as ugly as sin; but, no doubt, I am sentimental atheart as any bread-and-butter miss, eh? and your remark quite applies. Awoman's easily blinded by pious pretences, and a man in love with hisneighbour's wife can't hit straight for squinting at her. There'sanother generality to cap yours! Not at all to the point either, ofcourse. It's a foolish manner of talking."
The old lady spoke with a spice of temper; and George laughed, but hewas angry too.
He got up and threw his cigar into the fire. "I am going out for a bit.I daresay I shan't be in for dinner; don't wait, please," said he. "I amsick to death of the chatter about this trial. You can talk it over withLyddy and the Cohens without my assistance, can't you?"
And he went out, leaving Mrs. Sauls to repent her indiscretion. She lostthe greatest pleasure of the week when her son didn't dine with her onSaturday. Her tongue was occasionally a match for his, but she washeavily handicapped by Nature; for, naturally, even so good a son asGeorge did not find in his mother, as she found in him, the chief joyand object of existence! George was not in the least quick-tempered as arule, however; and their chaff seldom resulted in anything approaching ahuff.
Mrs. Sauls sat on the stool of repentance till dinner time, when shedrank he
r best champagne--which was produced only when George wasexpected--without tasting it, and found no savour in her dinner.
Lyddy, loud and high-coloured, took George's place at the bottom of thetable, and "Uncle Benjamin" was pleased. Benjamin Cohen had snubbedGeorge in his nephew's youth; now times were changed, and old Benjaminwould have been glad to forget certain by-gones; but, unfortunately,George had an excellent memory; consequently, the uncle liked Lyddy thebetter of the two, though he entertained the greater respect for hisnephew.
They discussed the trial in all its bearings, but Mrs. Sauls sat silentand heavy. She was as great a talker as her son as a rule; but to-nightshe contributed only one observation during the whole of the dinner.When Benjamin Cohen remarked that he had heard that the defendant'shealth had been quite broken down by the rough treatment he hadreceived, she observed that she had no opinion of preachers, and that nodoubt it served him right.
After dinner, they played cards; and she lost heavily, and took nopleasure in the game. Usually she was keenly interested; though it wasan understood thing, that when she won, the stakes were merely nominal,and that when Benjamin won, they were _bona fide_. Mr. Benjamin sweptthem up very comfortably to-night.
The candles in the heavy gold candlesticks had burnt down pretty lowbefore the game showed any signs of ending. Lyddy played on the grandpiano at the further end of the big drawing-room; and her aunt, a faded,gentle, little woman, dozed peacefully in an armchair.
It was close on eleven o'clock when Mrs. Sauls' face visibly brightened;she had heard George's step on the stairs.
He came in and shook hands with his uncle, and kissed his aunt, to whomhe was always genuinely kind, and then came and leaned on the back ofhis mother's chair, and overlooked her cards.
"You are getting shamefully beaten, old lady!" said he. "You can't playwithout me to advise you. Uncle Benjamin's more than a match for you."
"I played before you were born, and even before you were thought of, mydear," said Mrs. Sauls; but she knew, by the tone of his voice, thatGeorge had forgiven the "generality" about neighbours' wives; and shewas her cheerful self again.
He continued to stand there, commenting on her play, in a way thatirritated his uncle, but delighted his mother, who always loved to haveher son near her, and who, presently, became aware that he had somesecret cause of elation, and was very unusually excited.
"Have you been winning to-night?" she asked; and he smiled as he stoopedover her, and touched the card she should play.
"I've held trumps," he said. "The trumps were diamonds. Ah, you aremaking a mistake, mother! You should not play hearts; you will give youradversary a chance if you do that. Yes, I have been in luck to-night.I've held all the diamonds, and had the game in my hands. Nothing to donow but to win."
"_You_ didn't give your adversary any chance, I'll be bound," said hisuncle.
"No; I never do, sir," said George.
Mrs. Sauls went on winning steadily now, with her son to back her.George's luck seemed to infect her, but Benjamin waxed angry.
Mrs. Sauls sent George away at last, unwillingly. "You are disturbingyour uncle, which is not fair. And really, you know, I don't require tobe taught how to suck eggs. Go away!" she cried.
"Does it disturb you to be looked at, Uncle Benjamin? I beg yourpardon," said George politely; and retreated to the other end of theroom to chaff Lyddy, and amuse his gentle little aunt, who never couldunderstand why any one ever disliked dear George or thought himsarcastic.
"There!" said Lyddy yawning, when their guests had departed; "I thoughtthey were never going. Isn't it comical to see what a fuss George alwaysmakes over poor Aunt Lyddy? I declare I believe he'll end by marrying_that_ kind of simple, meek woman, though he flirts with the go-aheadones."
"I wish he would!" said George's mother. "Your Aunt Lyddy is a goodwoman--a much better woman than I am; though I must own," she added,with an inflection of voice that was very like her son's, "that Ibelieve that's partly because she's too stupid to be anything else. ButGeorge would be very kind to a----"
"To a good little fool!" said Lyddy. "I really think he would. Well, areyou coming to bed?"
"Presently," said Mrs. Sauls. But when Lyddy had gone, she went down tothe smoking room.
"Ah! I thought your curiosity wouldn't keep till the morning!" criedGeorge, when she opened the door.
"My dear! You've found the diamonds! Where are they?"
He stretched out his hand, the locket lying on his palm face upwards."In my hands," he said.
"And where were they, George?"
"In that saint's!" He laughed, and laid it down on the table. "Mother!you and I were too charitable; we thought he would draw the line atthat."
He told her the whole story then, walking up and down the room while hetalked. He was very triumphant, and slightly flushed; she could havefancied he had been drinking just enough to elate him, but that Georgenever drank; and, in spite of the triumph, the old woman's heart achedfor him.
"You remember I told you that I had mislaid some papers?" he said. "Irecollected suddenly that I had left them at the governor's house, so Iwent back there this evening; I found them. (I shall begin to say I amled by the Spirit soon.) On leaving the house, I came upon that fine oldparson from Lupcombe. He wanted to cut me; he thought I had trumped upthe whole story about his pet preacher, out of personal spite, Ibelieve. He implied as much in the witness box, and I was determined tohave it out with him. Upon my word, mother, though I've small liking forparsons, I like that one; he's a splendid old specimen. Well, the snowcame down hard on us and shortened our colloquy. He went on his way,having delivered his mind as boldly as if he were safe in the pulpit,where no man can answer him; and I was just crossing the road, when arunaway cart came tearing along. I saw a woman, with a bundle in herarms, slip as she tried to get out of the way. The roads are in afearful state; one might skate from here to the gaol; and the drifts ofsnow were whirling up into our eyes. I caught the horse's bridle. Thewheels hadn't gone over the woman, but she was knocked down almost underthe brute's hoofs. I had to pick her up. She wasn't much hurt, I fancy;only a good deal shaken, and a little bruised."
He paused for a moment. Something in his voice had revealed to hismother who the woman was.
"You saved the preacher's wife!" she said.
"I felt I ought to apologise for my presumption," said George. "But Ireally couldn't help it. I--I didn't see who she was till she lay in myarms."
He put his head down on his hands for a second as he stood by themantelpiece. He could feel her in his arms still in the midst of thatwhirling snow, her head on his shoulder for once, her eyes closed.
"Tom Thorpe was with her; he was just a few steps in front. He turnedround when he heard me shout, and he caught the reins on the other side.I left him to take her home. She is living close to the prison. I thinkshe hadn't time to realise that I had saved her, which was fortunate;for she would possibly have preferred being killed. I had picked up thebundle she was carrying, and had it still in my hand. I consideredwhether I would run after them and give it to Tom Thorpe; but then Ithought I'd send it round by a servant to-night, and not force her tospeak to me. Modesty is always my strong point, you know. Besides,though I am not thin-skinned, she has made me understand that,--what wasit?--that she'd rather take hot coals in her bare hands, than help fromme. So I took the bundle to my rooms, and--(observe the leading of theSpirit again! I could preach a sermon on that subject to the preachernow!)--I called Lucas to do up the things tidily, and take them. Therewas a jersey, and a woollen shirt, and a cloth cap. I didn't want totouch them. It was Lucas--not I--who found out. The cap had been torn,her bundle had gone under the wheel; it was so torn that the lining wasloose. Lucas, bless his tidiness! took it up to brush off the dirt. Inbrushing it, he felt something between the cloth and the lining. He putin his fingers--he is always curious, but I'll allow that his curiositywas inspired on this occasion--and he pulled out _this_ plum! It hadbeen lying safely _perdu_ for some tim
e. If that pious man's leadingspirit hadn't rounded on him and taken to leading me instead, he wouldhave carried those diamonds on his revered head to all his meetings forthe next six months--supposing he got off, of which he had a goodchance. It would hardly have been safe to get rid of them in England;but, perhaps, he would have had 'a call' to convert the sinners over theChannel. He generally uncovers when he prays, doesn't he? otherwise, Ishould think the diamonds would have touched him as a very 'direct andsensible blessing,' and would have given great force to his petitions."
"Don't, George!" said Mrs. Sauls quickly. "If the man was a hypocrite,he'll swing for it; but that's no reason why you should blaspheme."
"I? I am in an unusually religious frame of mind," said George. "AuntLyddy told me to be thankful to Providence for my preservation just now;and so I am, very. I've got my desire over mine enemy, which is aBiblical source of congratulation! Barnabas Thorpe always says it's the'Lord' when he takes what he wants. Let me follow that holy man'sexample; if his 'Lord' has given him into my hand, it would be wickednot to rejoice."
"Do you suppose his wife knew that he had the diamonds?" interruptedMrs. Sauls.
"No, I don't," said George. "It _would_ be blasphemy to suppose that."
He was walking up and down again, but that question about the preacher'swife sobered him a little; and presently he sat down, playing with herlocket in one hand and shading his face with the other.
"And yet I don't know," he said. "She may have known--God knows--no! Ithink it is the devil knows--what may happen when a woman is bound to_such_ a saint. In any case it's not her fault."
"But she will suffer if he's hanged," said Mrs. Sauls; and George lookedup.
"Yes; she will," he said. "That's not my affair. The fool always sufferswith the knave, and the innocent with the guilty. I didn't make thatexcellent universal law. But I am not so moonstruck as to let a rogueoff for the sake of a woman who won't touch me with a pair of tongs.Why, mother, what do you take me for? What do you want? I've never knownyou so unreasonable. Why shouldn't I bring a man to justice who hastried to kill me? Who am I to upset heaven's decrees? Do you want me tocompound a felony? I believe you do! I am ashamed of you, old lady!"
"I am a foolish old woman, my boy," said Mrs. Sauls. "Perhaps it'sbecause I am getting feeble and old now, that I can't bear to hear youtalk so."
And George suddenly dropped the savagely bantering tone, and sat down onthe sofa beside her, and pulled her closer to him. "Nonsense! 'old andfeeble!'" he said. "There's not much feebleness about you, mother. Isay, you make me feel on a par with my uncle! My foot itches to kick himwhen I hear him bullying Aunt Lydia. Have I been bullying you?"
"No, my dear. You are quite the best son in all the world, and not inthe least like your uncle," said Mrs. Sauls. "Besides, you wouldn't findme so easy to bully as your Aunt Lyddy, though I remember----"
She did not say what she remembered; but George knew well enough.
They both remembered some scenes that had probably helped to make Georgethe man he was, both for good and evil. Isaac Cohen had been a brutalhusband, and a tyrannical father, till the day when George discoveredthat he was big enough to defend himself, and strong enough to preventhis mother from being ill-treated--at any rate, in his presence.
"Don't remember!" said Isaac's son. "My father is best forgotten. I hopeI don't remind you of him. If I do, I certainly ought to be heartilyashamed of myself."
It was a bitter thing to say of a father, but then the facts hadn't beensweet; and his mother, at least, knew how much besides bitterness hadbeen developed by them. It was seldom that she referred to those daysthat were past, but she had touched on them for a purpose now. Her son'slove for her had deepened with the necessity of protecting her; inalluding to that, she knew that she was pulling at her strongest hold onhim. Certainly she was, as he called her, a clever old woman.
"Perhaps I am unreasonable," she said. "Evidence is against thepreacher, and, as you say, he'll be convicted by the jury, not by you. Ishould rejoice to see the man who tried to kill you on the gallows; but,George, I still believe that _that_ man is innocent. Don't laugh againand talk to me of heaven."
"Well, I won't," said George; "for, in sober earnest, mother, I must saythat I think heaven has had precious little to do with the affair fromfirst to last. I am sure the preacher's marriage was concocted in theother place. I should like to ask him what he thinks of personalinspiration when he knows what I've found. But I won't quote his jargonto you if it makes you sick. I allow it was my own luck and promptitudethat put into my hand the rope that will throttle him. After all, I'vealways found myself the only safe thing to trust to!"
"Very well, my son," said Mrs. Sauls. "But, if you respect nothingbeyond yourself, you must be careful not to lose that self-respect."
George Sauls looked at her in surprise; his mother seldom spoke so tohim; for, with all their apparent frankness to each other, both had agood deal of reserve, partly born of a horror of cant. She felt nervousat having said so much, but he didn't laugh this time.
"My dear mother, you are getting quite miserable; and neither I nor thepreacher, even supposing him to be as good as he looks, is worth that,"he said kindly. "I believe I've been holding forth like a stage villain;but, after all, I am not meditating any villainies. Some one comesbehind me in the dark and tries to murder me; I have the man, who, Ibelieve, did it, arrested, and then a fortunate chance puts clinchingproof of his guilt into my hand. Naturally I shall produce it. As ithappens, I hated Barnabas Thorpe before; but I assure you that I shouldact in precisely the same way if there had been no former quarrelbetween us, and I should be quite right. I am doing nothing unfair; youneedn't be unhappy; I can't imagine why you are. I wish you would go tobed, and forget the preacher. I can't think what makes you so soft abouthim; you've heard of men being hanged before now. Look here, I've got alot of writing to do to-night, and don't want to have to sit up till thesmall hours. To do that is very bad for my head, which ought to be of agreat deal more importance to you than Barnabas Thorpe's neck.Good-night."
He gave her a kiss as he spoke. She had been very foolish and unlike herordinary cheerful self to-day; but then he was aware that he too hadbeen rather excited, and his kiss was all the warmer because he had beenmomentarily angry, and because she had called herself old and feeble.Certainly her tenacity of purpose was not feeble.
When her son stooped to kiss her, she made up her mind to gain herpoint, and she appealed instinctively to the most vulnerable part ofGeorge. He might be hard-headed, like his father, but he possessedsomething that his father had lacked.
"My boy, you are quite within your rights," she said. "But let me be'unreasonable and soft' for once, and give me this fancy just because Iam your old mother and ask you for it."
"What do you ask?" said George. "If it is anything on the preacher'sbehalf, please don't ask it; for I don't like refusing you, and youdon't at all like being refused."
This was not encouraging, but Mrs. Sauls persisted. There were fewthings George wouldn't do for her, as she very well knew.
"You are more to me than a hundred preachers," she said. "George, ifthis man is hanged, I believe from my soul that you'll be sorry for itone day. Oh, I know that you are doing nothing unfair; that you've everyright possible to produce those diamonds in court. I tell you, I own Iam unreasonable, and a silly old woman to-night; and yet, oh, my dear,the idea haunts me that you will feel his blood on your head, because atthe bottom of your heart you hate the man, not because of that blow inthe dark, but because he has married the woman you want. Throw thediamonds away. Give them back to Mrs. Thorpe. Let him escape. If he isguilty, he'll suffer in the end, you may be sure. If he is innocent (andsince I have seen him I feel convinced that he is), you will be glad."
She looked eagerly at him, but there was not a sign of yielding onGeorge's face.
"I am not afraid of being haunted," he said; "though the preacher isalways so illogical that I quite allow it would be highly characte
risticof his ghost to try that game on me, if a jury justly convict him. No,mother! Mrs. Thorpe should have kept the diamonds when she had them. Shewon't get them back now. I hope to see him hang first. If he isinnocent, he must be able to explain how the stones got into hispossession; if he can explain and won't, he is a fool--to put itmildly--I shan't frustrate justice to save him from the fruits of hisfolly. I'm not his nurse to prevent the poor dear from cutting hisfingers when he plays with edged tools. Why on earth should I?"
"Because I beg it of you as a favour," said Mrs. Sauls. "I don't oftentry to interfere with you, do I? I do not like begging, even from myson."
"You would have had no need to beg in any other case," said George. Andshe knew she had failed.
"That you ask it is a very strong reason. Why, mother, it would bestrong enough to make me let off any other rascal in the world if hewere in my power."
"But you won't let this man off--for my asking?" she said.
"No, I won't," said George. "He robbed me of something I liked betterthan diamonds--or even than _you_."
"I'll say no more," said the old woman sadly. "But, my dear, I amsorry."
"Ah, well, if one can't get what one wants, one must want what one canget," said George; and that soothing and virtuous-sounding maxim meant(just then) that, having been denied the satisfaction of love, he wasmaking the most of the satisfaction of hate.
"I generally do make the most of what I can get," he added cheerfully."It answers very well. Good-night. Don't be sorry for people, mother;it's a mistake, and a great waste of power. Go to sleep comfortably, anddon't fret."
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